


Missing Scenes

by neithersaintnorsinner



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Romance, Siblings, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:33:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 5,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neithersaintnorsinner/pseuds/neithersaintnorsinner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the fun happens off camera. A series of one-shots that take place "behind the scenes" and post-vlogs. Ch. 16: Lizzie/Darcy, more fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mary and Lydia

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a writing exercise. I will probably continue adding to it from time to time, so feel free to shoot me a prompt if you want. I can’t promise I’ll write it, but I’ll see what I can do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [getoffyourfeetandmakethiscount](http://getoffyourfeetandmakethiscount.tumblr.com) asked: Lydia and Mary go to the mall.

It’s embarrassing, but Mary actually _likes_ some of the stuff at Hot Topic.

Her Contemporary Political Theory professor would be disappointed, having spent a good part of last semester lecturing blandly on illusory happiness and the inevitable decline of capitalism. Mary can recite her lecture on Baudrillard and consumer-oriented societies almost word for word.

It’s easy for Professor Monfort’s voice in her head to be drowned out, however, by Lydia’s continual exclamations. Mary isn’t sure how Lydia manages to find anything to be excited about; she goes through the garment racks so fast. Everything Lydia does is a blur.

“OMG.” Lydia has a habit of pronouncing abbreviations, like text-shorthand is her natural language. “This. Would look perf,” she holds up a dark hoodie.

It has a skull on the back, and Mary wants to roll her eyes at the predictably macabre design. Clearly this corporation was trying to cash in on the faux-emo posers of the teenage world.

“That’s practically Amish by your standards, but far be it from me to stop you from buying something that isn’t pink, rhinestones, or form fitting.”

They’d been to Victoria’s Secret just before this, and Mary had _seen_ some things. She suppresses a shiver.

“We’re not shopping here for _me_ , you dork. Not that I wouldn’t rock all of these looks, but I like my adorbs way too much for this depresso stuff. You should try it on!”

Mary is caught off guard, as always, that someone is thinking of _her_. She must have missed that portion of Lydia’s chatter, and she feels a stab of guilt. Lydia is looking at her with pure, unadulterated elation. Lydia’s _happy_ to be around her. It’s unnerving.

Mary’s sure Lydia is that way with everyone, though.

“Fine,” she grabs the hanger and tries not to sound too excited, “But just this one.”


	2. Darcy and Jane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Darcy asks Jane for fashion advice (for himself or Lizzie)

Jane smiles every time she sees him, and it makes Darcy feel guilty. He finds it difficult to accept compassion when he’s meted it out so sparingly himself. Capacity for forgiveness is another personality trait for him to work on—to be more like Jane in that regard. Logically, he deserves her anger for his interferences with Bing. But Jane still smiles.

In his efforts to make amends, Darcy finds himself planning topics of conversation with Jane. Extemporaneous speaking has never been his strong suit, and he is eager to get to know her after his exceptional misjudgment last summer.

He settles on fashion. Lizzie is always in raptures over Jane’s sense of style, and though he does not consider himself particularly observant where women’s fashion is concerned, Jane always does look very well put-together.

He asks after her job in New York, and how it compares to her former occupation of merchandise coordinating. Jane answers him very politely.

“…but I didn’t know you were interested in fashion, Darcy,” she adds, “Are you looking for advice? Is Lizzie after you about your—what did she call it? ‘Hipster Newsie’ wardrobe?”

Jane crinkles her nose, and when Lizzie does this she’s usually teasing, so Darcy smiles too.

“Lizzie seems to believe my style icon is Gordon Gekko. I am still trying to determine whether that’s a good thing.”

“Well, he was always very well dressed,” Jane concedes. “I suppose Lizzie just meant his clothes are a bit old-fashioned for someone your age.”

“I see.” Darcy furrows his brow, processing this information.

“Darcy,” she puts a friendly hand on his arm, “I wear vintage clothes all the time. Sometimes there’s something reassuring about classic, timeless styles. What matters is if _you_ like it.”

She understands. He finds it comforting, that they have this in common; perhaps he can learn forgiveness as well as fashion from Jane.


	3. Caroline/Darcy (unrequited)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Succexiest](http://succexiest.tumblr.com) asked: Caroline x Darcy

When Bing talks about love (and he talks about it a _lot_ ) he makes it seem so uncomplicated. Bing falls in love the way people do in Disney movies; it’s pure, fast, joyful, simple. Caroline’s seen him repeat the pattern a dozen times.

Caroline is different. Relationships are easy enough to find, but her emotional attachments are sporadic, intense, lingering. It happens to her with Darcy. She keeps her feelings concealed behind a pretense of bored composure.

She kisses him to assess the possibilities, though, just the one time. Just once.

They’re at yet another unremarkable soiree, hiding in their usual corner. Caroline amuses herself by playing with the garnish in her martini and making uncharitable remarks about the other guests. Darcy is too principled to reply in kind, but she’s familiar with every twitch of his lips. He’s amused, too.

It’s easy, radiant with success and gin, to reach up and taste his mouth with hers.

He doesn’t respond. He is entirely, horribly still. She knows Darcy too well; she knows he has passion and strength of feeling underneath it all, and she wants to pound his chest, _rip_ into him, force him to reveal that side to her. But his lips remain rigid, and frankly the most humiliating part of it all is that she’d mumbled “Will”.

They never talk about it. Darcy because he’s Darcy. Caroline because she remembers reading somewhere about principles of negotiation—that the person who names his or her price first gives up substantial leverage. She supposes feelings work the same way. Or they should.

 

It’s a slap in the face with a frozen glove when she watches him declare his love for Lizzie Bennet.


	4. Fitz and Charlotte

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Fitz and Charlotte (platonic pairing)

Fitz seems to think it’s a sticking point—that he can’t think of a good nickname for Charlotte.

“Char? C? Cece? Lotte? Hmm. Lola—”

She cuts him off at that one. “Just call me Charlotte. Everyone else does.”

He looks at her in mock indignation. “Do I look like everyone else to you? I’m _Fitz_. Naming genius extraordinaire. I make up special, awesome nicknames. Lizzie B. Gigi D.”

Charlotte wonders if he’s forcing this camaraderie, because they’re both Lizzie-and-Darcy’s best friends, and it’s just practical to get along.

“You really don’t have to—”

“Calling Darcy, Darcy? I started that. Because dude just does _not_ look like a William. I even made up a nickname for Caroline, but I only got to use it once. She didn’t particularly take to being called Carrie Lee.”

He looks a little deflated at the memory, and Charlotte tries not to laugh at Caroline’s probable reaction to that gem.

“How about this. I’ll be your nicknaming co-admin. I’ll brainstorm names with you for everyone else. And, as partners, we each get to keep our given names. I stay Charlotte, you stay Fitz.”

His expression brightens with mischief. “Fitz _is_ a nickname.”

“What’s it short for?”

“Professional secret, partner,” he winks.

It's friendly, though. Like he’d be happy to share, someday. Like he really is adamant about the nickname out of affection, not obligation.

“Got it!” He claps his hands together. “Lottie Lu.”

“Don’t you dare—”

But she can’t help laughing too.


	5. Fitz and Lydia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [yesknopemaybe](http://yesknopemaybe.tumblr.com) asked: Some kind of Fitz/Lydia interaction (not romantic of course)

He catches her in the middle of an _epic_ sock slide. It’s actually a pretty awesome introduction, if you think about it.

Lydia likes Darcy’s house. Houses. They’re easy to get lost in. She can wander around for hours. Sometimes she takes selfies by somber portraits of Darcy’s long-dead relatives, sometimes she sings at the top of her lungs and sometimes she chases Kitty and she almost, _almost_ feels like herself again.

When she discovers a long, deserted corridor, it’s too slide-perfect to resist. The problem (or maybe the thrill) with sock slides, though, is they’re a commitment. You can’t exactly stop yourself halfway through. You rush in, headfirst, headlong, and worry about the consequences after the fact.

So when he turns a corner unexpectedly, she actually slams into him. He’s solid, though. There is something sturdy and fraternally comforting about him.

“Sorry about that,” she says, but he’s smiling, not mad at all. “Sock slides…this hallway was kinda too perf to pass up.”

He nods as if it’s a completely natural impulse. “Well, if you ever visit Darcy’s house in Buenos Aires, you should try the east wing on the third floor. But watch out for his collection of Chinese ceramics.”

He knows who she is, but they’ve never met in person, so she introduces herself anyway, like the past never happened.

“I’m Lydia.”

 “Fitz.”

His hair bounces with his smile. She likes him already.


	6. Caroline and Lydia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [butwewereokay ](http://butwewereokay.tumblr.com)asked for Lydia + Caroline friendship

Her favorite thing about Caroline (there’s a phrase she never thought she’d say) is that she doesn’t talk about things.

A lot of people treat Lydia like she’s a sheet of paper floating on water, like any second she’ll submerge and come to pieces. Lizzie and Jane are supportive and she loves them for it, but sometimes Lydia just needs a break. Sometimes she needs to pretend the past doesn’t _exist_ , not talk it to death.

Caroline is handy that way. Caroline acts like the last year didn’t happen, and that she and Lydia aren’t the leftover ladies of Lizzie’s vlogs, neither romantically nor professionally fulfilled.

It’s refreshing.

Caroline used to be a sorority girl. Lydia knows she’s done her share of wild things, even if she pretends otherwise, with other people. She can drink almost anyone under the table. It’s a rare, prized quality in Lydia’s experience—someone who can keep up.

So on occasion, when they’re in the same city at the same time, they’ll meet up. Just to be out, and _away_. Just for company. Lydia doesn’t mention Darcy, and Caroline doesn’t mention George, and at the end of the night Caroline pays for drinks without asking.


	7. Caroline and Mrs. Bennet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caroline and Mrs. Bennet (this one just sort of popped into my head).

It’s really something of a relief to know Mrs. Bennet is just as insistent about this whole marriage and babies business with women who aren’t her daughters. In the rare moments she turns her focus away from Lydia, she has been simply “desperate” for Caroline to settle down from her “jet-settin” lifestyle and find some “nice young man”. Apparently her matchmaking tendencies aren’t always financially motivated.

It doesn’t make the woman any less aggravating, but still.

Mrs. Bennet plops Bing and Jane’s four-month-old on Caroline’s lap, presumably in the hope that mere proximity will cause some sort of paroxysm of maternal longing in her. For half a second, Caroline is tempted to just make a run for it. Children are filthy. Children enjoy grabbing at her hair with perpetually sticky hands. Children are unpredictable and bothersome and horrifying.

(Caroline _isn’t_ cuddly. And she’s wearing Helmut Lang, for Christ’s sake.)

Of course, this is her niece, so she supposes allowances must be made. Then again her life has been an alarming series of allowances ever since the Bennets became a part of it.

The child grabs Caroline’s nose, hard. Everyone seems to find it terribly amusing.

She is actually sort of a sweet little thing. For now. Caroline can’t imagine Bing as anything but the most frighteningly indulgent caregiver. Still, it is nice to have a distraction while everyone discusses which side of the family little Allison takes after. Yet again.

Caroline regrets her displeasure at the choice of conversation moments later, however, when Mrs. Bennet brings it back around to her state of perpetual singleness. (She doesn’t deign to tell the woman her multitude of opportunities; she’s always dated often, and splendidly. But she has a feeling the question _why aren’t you dating_ is preferable to _why aren’t you married_.)

Caroline answers the impertinences in the smooth colorless way she always does. She’s had excellent practice lately.

“But are you _happy_ , dear—” the question comes out of nowhere.

It can’t be the first time she’s asked that—can it? Caroline finds herself stumbling through the sentence she’s attempting to mentally compose. The embarrassing pining period she went through is long over, certainly; she has her social engagements and work and men when she needs them.

She isn’t unhappy. Is that what this is about? Ineffective infant therapy and invasive questions as misplaced concern for her happiness? Caroline glances down at Allison.

There’s an excruciating amount of drool on Caroline's designer skirt.


	8. Jane/Bing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gotten several requests for Bing/Jane New York fluff, and one for karaoke, so I've combined them.

Jane finds comfort in looking for the best in people. It’s like finding a pocket of fresh air in a crowded room, or a corner of sunlight on a gray day. But she’s never shied away from accepting harsh truths—provided, of course, there are no plausible alternative explanations—and it looks like this is one of them: Bing is a _terrible_ singer.

The two of them are still finding their way around New York, and their way around each other. It’s an opportunity to improve at both when Jane’s coworkers invite them to karaoke in the East Village.

Bing is the first of their group to volunteer. He finishes to cheers and wild applause. If Lizzie were here, she would say it’s because everyone loves Journey no matter what (and that alcohol is a wonderful improver of spirits), but Jane feels differently. Bing makes up for his lack of technical skill in earnestness and enthusiasm, and she loves him for that.

It’s nice here, Jane realizes somewhat belatedly. She doesn’t really sing, but she’s having fun. Their group is cheerful and noisy.  Bing is warm and pleasantly crammed next to her in this tiny booth. Maybe they are still strangers in New York, but it seems more like a promise than a misfortune. There is so much _potential_ brimming here, so much hope for what this city and their future could hold.

Jane grabs Bing’s hand. She still isn’t comfortable with public displays of affection—and that’s fine, she knows it’s perfectly all right—but if Bing can pour his heart into a song, so can she.

“How do you feel about duets, Bing?”


	9. Gigi and Lydia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Please note: this fic references George Wickham and implicitly discusses abusive relationships.**  
> [svenskiovich](http://svenskiovich.tumblr.com) asked for Gigi and Lydia interaction. This is pretty light on the actual "interaction", but what can I say? I couldn't get these two to behave.

After George, after _everything_ , Gigi feels like a shadow. Vague, distorted around the edges. Not quite real. Everyone in her life seems substantial by comparison. They are so completely themselves, you know?  

It takes her a long time to come to any semblance of self-realization. To define herself outside of George, outside of being A Darcy, outside of years of expectations and uncertainties. It’s a process, but she finds her answers. She finds resilience, happiness, and sometimes it makes her sickeningly glad he happened; she wanted those false layers gone. But she wanted to peel them back gently, with time and care. He ripped them from her, left her exposed, angry red _raw_. It’s a hell of a way to go about things.

When Gigi watches Lizzie’s videos, she can’t help but like this woman and her charming, odd family. Lizzie is charismatic, combative, and stupidly perfect for William. Jane makes being both gentle and strong seem effortlessly consistent. And Lydia—words are insufficient to describe her. She is no shadow. Lydia _bursts_ on-screen; she overflows with vitality. She shouts herself into the world: this is me, know me, love me.

Later, too much later, she finds Lydia’s YouTube channel. Here Lydia simmers instead of boiling over, and without bubbles breaking the surface her vulnerabilities become painfully clear. It breaks Gigi’s heart to watch him break her. To watch this untamed, fearless, _energetic_ woman become a shadow of her former self. She thinks about reaching out a thousand times, and reconsiders a thousand times more. How do you presume to tell someone you understand what they’re feeling? How do you proclaim your solidarity to someone who never asked for it?

Lydia visits San Francisco often enough. She and Gigi dance around each other and the non-subject of George with predictable awkwardness. They spend time together in the safety of groups, where conversations can be redirected and elephants in the room are more easily ignored. It gets easier, though. They share a love of musicals and a fondness for convincing William to fetch them bright pink drinks when they go out. They both agree that honey walnut shrimp is actually _really gross_.

It’s a start.


	10. Lizzie and Caroline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A present for succexiest and butwewereokay. Lizzie and Caroline at Netherfield.

Lizzie has a moment of blind panic when she hears Caroline unexpectedly _scream_ from downstairs. (Apparently, in addition to marble countertops, Capitolesque furniture, and showerheads-to-die-for, Netherfield has simply stunning acoustics.)

In high school, Lizzie’s class learned more than she had ever wanted to know about World War II. It’s all kind of a repressed haze now, but there was one memorable day they spent discussing psychological tactics employed by the Germans during air raids. Her teacher had demonstrated the demoralizing effect of screaming sirens (Jericho Trumpets, they were called) attached to dive bomber planes…

…by literally shrieking in front of the class. Admittedly, it’s nothing like what one would probably feel during an actual blitzkrieg, but all the same- the visceral terror of those few seconds is still seared into her brain.

So when Lizzie hears the sound, she’s back in 11th grade again, frozen in her seat. Her mouth is dumbly hanging open and everything. It’s not that she’s never heard anyone cry out like that; her mother has a certain proclivity for, well, _wailing_. But Caroline isn’t exactly the type to freak out. They’d watched _Frenzy_ the other night and the woman hadn’t even flinched.

She finds her in the kitchen. “What just happened?”

Caroline shakes her head and gestures at a spider hesitating on the tile. “What is _with_ all of the spiders in this town? God, nature is the absolute worst.”

It moves and she recoils with a sharp intake of breath. Strands of hair are slipping out of place.

“We’re in suburban California, not the Amazon,” Lizzie tries not to laugh.

“Regardless. Darcy isn’t here to kill the damned thing, and Bing will just let it outside and it’ll crawl right back in and find me. It’s seen me now, and spiders are vengeful; they never forget.”

(Caroline does not ordinarily swear.)

“That’s elephants. You’re thinking of elephants.”

She’s actually trembling a little. “I am in no mood, Lizzie Bennet.”

It's a strangely endearing situation. Lizzie has her own irrational fear of birds. She can empathize.

The thing about Caroline is, she's the type of person who puts everyone else perpetually off-balance. That air of perfection. The haughty, cool detachment. The way she seems to tower over everyone in her imprudently high heels.

It’s good to know the woman is only human.

“Luckily, we are modern, non-distressed damsels who can take care of spiders even without the men around,” Lizzie grabs a paper towel and—

 _Squish_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My high school history teacher actually did this--shrieked to demonstrate what Jericho Trumpets sounded like. It was horrifying.


	11. Lydia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: this fic has a couple brief references to George Wickham.

When she thinks about the whole George—thing, she always thinks about microscopes.

Lydia might have liked biology back in high school if it weren’t for the lab part. She doesn’t have the patience or skill or _whatever_ you need to do that stuff. Her lab partner just kind of laughs about it the first few weeks. But Lydia’s late one morning—the day after they get their third failing lab report grade, and he’s joined another group, determinedly avoiding her eyes.

Like it’s all her fault. It’s not like he could identify the stages of cell division either.

 _Doucheus maximus_.

Lydia works by herself that day, and if Mr. Clemmons notices, between grading pop quizzes and picking his fingernails, he doesn’t say anything. Not that day, or after. She works alone.

She’s excited when they finally get to use the microscopes, though. In those nerdy college catalogs Lizzie and Jane had, there were always pictures of important-looking people gazing through microscopes. It’s kind of cool—not _cool_ , but—they're doing something that matters.

Lydia follows the steps in her lab manual really carefully this time. 'Plant cell lab: preparing an onion cell slide’, it reads. She peels the bit of onion, snickers at the term ‘wet mount’, makes one anyway, and fiddles with the knob on the microscope.

For a long time it seems pointless. She's looking at a bunch of white nothing. Then all at once she turns the knob and the little shapes come into focus. They're a strange kind of beautiful, actually.

Lydia draws them and grins. It’s totally weird to be thrilled about something like this—something she didn't realize she could care about until now, but she's _thrilled_. 

When Mr. Clemmons comes by, he looks at her drawing and frowns and glances through the lens and back at the drawing. Then he tells her those aren’t cells; they’re air bubbles. She messed up the mount, and she’s drawn the wrong thing without even realizing it. Her face gets red, like _really_ red, because apparently everyone else knew what plant cells were supposed to look like, and when she gets home she shuts herself inside her room with Kitty until her eyes don’t look all bloodshot and freaky anymore.

She thinks about that a lot, after George.


	12. Lizzie/Darcy

The expression on Darcy's face when he finds a box of Rice-A-Roni in her pantry is priceless. Admittedly it isn't food for the sophisticated palate, but starting up a business and dating William Darcy, real-life mancake, doesn't leave a lot of time for domesticity. The kitchen is practically a vestigial part of her apartment at this point. (Unlike her bedroom, as they've just spent the last thirty minutes proving. Has she mentioned her boyfriend is a "mancake"?)

Still, Lizzie listens attentively as he lists the harmful effects of monosodium glutamate, and acts properly horrified when he mentions the excessive sodium rampant in boxed foods. It's only when she clutches her chest with a dramatic flair reminiscent of her mother that he realizes she's teasing him by prodding for more information on the horrors of her food choices.

"I was told by the locals this is standard San Francisco fare. A veritable _treat_ , in fact," she insists.

He keeps investigating the shelves, looking for something else they can prepare for dinner. "Slander that does this city a tremendous disservice."

She grins. "That's a bit much, Will. You are such a _food snob_."

"I didn't realize my snobbery had subcategories," he says drily, but he's bending his lips in that quietly amused way she's only recently discovered. Contrary to popular belief (that she had no small part in propagating, she's ashamed to say), William Darcy _does_ have a sense of humor.

"I can prove it in under five words."

He raises his eyebrow in acceptance of the challenge. She thinks for a second, staring up at the ceiling, lips squished to one side. Then:

"Processed cheese product," she says with a knowing smirk, and watches him vigorously _try_ not to grimace. (He fails, spectacularly. It makes her love him just a little bit more.)

They end up going out for dinner.


	13. Caroline/Darcy (unrequited), redux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: [fic prompt] headcannon for how caroline fell in love with darcy?
> 
> (This has been in my inbox for like, a month and a half now, so, sorry about that!)

It happens in Paris.

And, yes, it’s completely ridiculous and embarrassing and cliché that the “City of Love” is where she realizes she has feelings for William Darcy, but Caroline doesn’t believe in fate. It’s free will that she agrees when Bing suggests they spend winter break in Paris. It’s free will that makes Darcy decide to come along. It’s free will that, when they’ve been in the city for all of three hours, Bing meets and falls in love with a girl with whom he has no languages in common.

(Because _obviously_.)

He abandons Caroline and Darcy in the 7th arrondissement, promising to meet up with them later. “Later” turns into very late, though, and it’s past ten at their hotel when, halfway through their second bottle of Pinot noir, Caroline and Darcy give up and have dinner without him.

Darcy makes grilled cheese with black truffles, because it seems like a good idea when they’re slightly drunk and they spent the afternoon buying enough food to, as he jokes, feed Gigi’s entire swim team. (Périgord truffles from Truffes Folies, bread from a nearby bakery, and some sort of cave-ripened fontina he’d personally selected from among what seemed like thousands of cheeses.) He’s a decent cook—and that’s important. It’s one of the few things he doesn’t _excel_ at, and, foolishly, she thinks the fact that he shares this merely decent skill with her makes it somehow more intimate.

When Bing finally gets back after midnight, he has to borrow cash for the cab waiting downstairs—his wallet is gone; something about a “misunderstanding” with the girl he’d gone off with—and Caroline isn’t even annoyed. She just knows when she goes to bed that something has shifted, with Darcy; that she feels restless and bored most of the time, but not around _him_.

She doesn’t believe in fate. But she still watches helplessly as events coincide and choices lead up to Darcy falling in love with someone else. Her heart feels like the glossy façade of a magazine, and it crumples just as easily.


	14. Lizzie/Darcy, redux

Darcy, bless his heart, is perfect in many ways, but when it comes to subtlety in his romantic gestures, well—he has yet to master that. Not that Lizzie is complaining, but it does make certain things really obvious.

Such as when he's about to propose.

To be fair, they're already at dinner and halfway through appetizers when Lizzie realizes it's about to happen. This is the anniversary of their first—actually, she isn't sure, but it's something in his calendar. There's soft violin music, champagne she's afraid to ask the price of, a table with view of the marina, and the last, golden rays of sunset. And then there's the fact that he keeps putting his hand into his pocket and drawing it back out.

Yeah, this is definitely about to happen. And if Lizzie's honest with herself, she's known what her answer would be for almost the entirety of their relationship.

He clears his throat several times and reaches into his pocket again. "Lizzie—"

"Will you marry me?"

He looks utterly nonplussed. Like she's sprouted horns or the kitchen behind her has gone up in flames, or possibly it's that she just stepped on what was about to be the most perfect proposal in the history of proposals.

(Because damn it all if her boyfriend doesn't have a knack for making incredible, swoon-worthy declarations of love.)

Lizzie claps her hands to her mouth. She's certain her face is the same color as her hair and she has a wild, inappropriate desire to laugh out of sheer mortification. Or cry. Maybe both at the same time.

"Oh my God. I—I don't know why I thought that would be funny. I'm so sorry." A beat. He hasn't moved. "Will?"

Darcy shakes his head the way people do when they come out of a swimming pool and they're trying to get water out of their ears. "I suppose my answer to that depends," he pulls out a velvety ring box and opens it, "On whether or not you will marry _me_."

It's an admirable recovery. Lizzie tries to convince herself that she's still horrified for almost ruining his careful plans and that's why tears have sprung into her eyes. Not because she is so suddenly, overwhelmingly happy she feels sick to her stomach. Not because it took dating William Darcy to realize that she might _want_ the very things her mother has been hounding her about for the last twenty years.

"Yes," Lizzie says. _Oh screw it_ , she thinks, and lives up to every bit of her mother inside her and cries freely when he slips the ring on her finger.

"Then, yes." Darcy leans across the table and covers her mouth with his.


	15. Lydia and Lizzie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Kaci, aka [hopeisananchor](../../../users/hopeisananchor/profile). Happy birthday!

Lizzie is totally dorky about it the first time Lydia comes to San Francisco for a visit. Like, she plans a trip to a _museum_. Because who _doesn’t_ want to visit some super old house while they’re on vacation, right?

At least Lizzie lets them leave the tour early. Except that might’ve been because Lydia slipped away from the group to take a “sleepy” selfie in one of the bedchambers (Yeah. _Bedchambers_. WTF, Lizzie) for her Instagram (#snoresville).

“Okay, so the Haas-Lilienthal House wasn’t my best plan,” Lizzie says over lunch, giving her soup an apologetic glance. “But Will said he went to an event hosted there once and it was gorgeous. Plus there’s only so much time you can spend at Ghirardelli.”

“Wait. You, a nerd, took advice from your _even nerdier_ boy toy about where to take the coolest younger sister ever? You know he’s like, from out of another century, right? I mean he totally talks that way. Like that sparkly dude in Twilight.”

She scoffs. “He’s not—”

“He _so_ is. He’s Edward Cullen minus the creepy stalker thing. He’s Wilward Darlen.” Lydia snickers at her own joke before adding: “I’m kidding. It was a nice…idea.”

“Well, I thought since you did so well in your Early US History class this semester—talk about _nerdy_ —” Lizzie grins, “You might like it. You know, like maybe studying that stuff is something you could pursue further.”

Lydia stabs her pasta with her fork. “Yeah, ‘cause history majors are just rolling in the dough, sis.”

“Well, the money doesn’t have to matter if it’s your passion.”

“OMG, Lizzie, it was _one_ class,” she laughs. “Can this not be a ‘let’s talk about your future’ talk? Mom and Dad are like, all over that, for reals. And I still don’t—I mean I’m not sure what I—” Ugh, she hates it when her voice goes all soft and insecure like this.

There is something nice about studying history, though. Like, the crappy stuff has already happened, and you know that people got through it okay because the world’s still turning, or whatever. It’s reassuring.

Lizzie hurriedly says, “That’s fine! You don’t have to know what you want yet, okay? I didn’t mean to—”

“I know. It’s cool.” They’re quiet for a minute. “So did you say something about chocolate ‘cause I’m totes down to spend the next 48 hours wherever that is…”


	16. Lizzie/Darcy, take 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a request for more Lizzie/Darcy fluff; this piece probably just reinforces the fact that I'm not writing these chapters in any specific order.

There are certain unexpected complications to sleeping with Lizzie.

No, Darcy thinks, glancing at the sleeping figure next to him—he doesn’t mean that quite the way it sounds; he imagines her smothering a laugh at the turn of phrase. The physical aspect of their relationship has been highly gratifying. It’s the literal _sleeping_ , occupying the same space for an entire night, that manages to confound him.

For one thing, Lizzie never lies still for long. For such a tiny person, she manages to traverse quite a bit of space while she sleeps, unaware of errant elbows and feet. There is also the matter of their bed coverings. On more than one occasion he wakes up to find his pillow gone—commandeered, as it were, and nestled comfortably under Lizzie’s chin after hers somehow gets tossed halfway across the room during the night.

Strange how he’s never slept better in spite of all that.

His reverie is abruptly cut short by an elbow thrust into his ribcage. Lizzie wakes up at his (very masculine) cry of pain.

“God, sorry!” She puts two fingers to her lips and presses them against his chest. “I dreamt I was being attacked by—I don’t know, actually, but he had giant horns and quippy one-liners and I’m pretty sure the fate of the universe was in my hands. I’m pretty sure Joss Whedon directed this dream.”

“Clearly you were performing admirably, but your nocturnal abilities make you a terrible bedmate,” he whispers into the top of her hair, and then glances down to make certain Lizzie knows the words are meant in jest.

She grins. “I know. It used to drive Lydia nuts when we went on family trips and had to share. I would buy a bigger bed, but there’s no space for one in this apartment…”

There’s an uneasy pause. They are both perfectly aware Darcy has more than enough space for both of them, but Lizzie is inclined to keep her space for now, and he can’t help agreeing it’s the wiser choice when she’s focusing on her startup.

Darcy massages his ribs and raises an eyebrow. “I suppose the only sensible solution is to spend less time sleeping, then.”


End file.
